


Things Best Unsaid

by queen_scribbles



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Arishok Fight, F/M, Mutual Pining, POV Fenris (Dragon Age), Post-Dragon Age II Quest - A Bitter Pill, Tending Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29958300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_scribbles/pseuds/queen_scribbles
Summary: Some things are just better kept to yourself... aren't they?
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Things Best Unsaid

“I accept.” 

Fenris’ heart squeezed in his chest as Hawke’s voice rang out, unflinchingly confident. She flung the words back at the Arishok as if _she_ were the one issuing a challenge.

From the Arishok’s satisfied smile, it was clear how he expected this to go. A lone human woman, no matter how respected, no matter her reputation, seemed no match for the towering qunari leader.

Fenris could count the beats of his pulse hammering in his ears as he and the others herded the surviving nobility up to the balconies, out of harm’s way. He ached to draw his sword and demand to fight instead, but he knew he could not.

The Arishok would not allow it-- Hawke alone was _basalit-an_.

Hawke would not allow it--she _hated_ when others tried to fight her battles for her.

So he stood with arms crossed and shoulders hunched between Sebastian and Isabela, tried to ignore Merrill’s quiet fretting, and kept his gaze fixed on Hawke.

If she was at all worried about the duel, it didn’t show in her stance. She stood with the same casual wariness that marked the outset of any fight; ready for whatever came but content to let her opponent make the first move.

And the Arishok obliged. He barreled toward Hawke with a roar, large blades sweeping in tandem arcs.

Hawke waited until the last possible second to dance out of the way, her own hooked axes now in hand. She pivoted as the Arishok’s charge carried him past her and dug one deep in his back below the shoulder.

The Arishok spun with a snarl and swung at her again, the way one might bat at a stinging fly. She dodged the first strike, but the second caught just at the edge of her shoulder.

Fenris sucked in a sharp breath watching her stumble and scramble back out of range, crimson spreading down her arm. Isabela nudged him reassuringly--or, he assumed that was the intention--but he didn’t even glance her way.

Hawke was retreating, eyes on her opponent as she darted backwards. She’d never seen shame in running away, especially when she could use it to make her surroundings work in her favor.

Even as the Arishok pursued her, she dodged around a pillar to gain some distance putting her superior agility to use.

“ _Ebost issala!_ ” he spat, nostrils flaring and one blade rising as he charged again.

Fenris’ jaw clenched, heart lodged in his throat, despite his familiarity with Hawke’s skill in battle.

She dodged under the swinging blade and slashed open the inside of the Arishok’s elbow, then let their momentum carry them away from each other. She wove between the pillars again, clearly anticipating another bullrush from the qunari leader.

It came only a few seconds later, and the throne room seemed to shake when he missed and slammed into a wall. “ _Ashkost kata!_ ” the Arishok snarled as he wheeled to charge her again. His battleaxe was extended in front of him, prepared to skewer this human who had the temerity to defy him and survive so long.

Again, he bore down on her. Again, she waited to dodge. Again, fear clawed the breath from Fenris’ lungs.

And this time she was just a little too slow. 

While Hawke managed to spin away from the main thrust and avoid being impaled, the blade did gouge through armor and flesh both. A collective gasp rose from all the onlookers--save one. Fenris’ teeth were clenched so tightly it made his ears ring, fingers digging into his arms as he struggled to hold himself back from joining the fight.

_She can be as furious at me as she likes, if it means she survives._

But Hawke kept her feet, though staggering, and grinned fiercely at the Arishok even as his eyes blazed with fury. “Come on, then,” She goaded, circling like a panther even as the bloodstains on her armor grew.

Part of Fenris wanted to call encouragement, show his faith in her. Part longed for her to be more cautious. Part knew better than to distract her, and all of him was too tense to get the words out if he _had_ settled on a course of action.

The Arishok was too enraged to do anything but succumb to Hawke’s prodding. He bellowed as he charged toward her once more, swinging one of his blades in a brutal arc meant to _end this_ \--and anyone in its path.

Hawke ducked, and the fearsome blade lodged in the pillar behind her instead. She swiped at the Arishok with one of her axes and opened a shallow gash across his chest.

The Arishok gave another bellow and yanked on the trapped weapon, swinging his other battleaxe at Hawke as he worked to free it. The point rattled and rasped as it scraped over the front of her armor, but she’d backpedaled far enough it did no real damage.

She leapt up, stepped on the trapped blade, pushed off that and then the Arishok’s pauldron to propel herself away. She faltered slightly on the landing, one hand flinching toward her wounded side as she grimaced.

Despite the way his heart pounded, Fenris couldn’t help a small smile when he saw her mouth a silent curse before zeroing back in on her opponent.

The Arishok finally yanked his battleaxe free, leaving a large divot in the pillar, and whipped around to face Hawke. He launched himself toward her with a roar.

Hawke gave her axes a flourishing twist and darted aside. She didn’t entirely avoid the attack--one blade grazed her thigh and Fenris bit his lip when the wound blossomed scarlet--but it did far less damage than intended. And before the Arishok recovered his balance, she was behind him, hooked axes plunging into the hollows of his collarbone. He snarled and tried to jerk free. She dug the blades deeper with a savage yell.

The Arishok swayed, then wrenched around and grabbed her by the hair. He growled as he flung her into a tumble across the room, her axes clattering to the floor. 

Fenris bit his lip harder to keep her name from spilling out.

The Arishok’s shoulder heaved in great, angry breaths as he glared after her, his back to the balconies. And then his weapons clattered to the floor as Hawke pushed up to a crouching stance. A murmur rippled through the air, uncertainty shifting to hope.

Snarls of red-brown hair hung in Hawke’s face now, blood trickled from her lip, but she still looked every inch the predator. Her hand darted to the small knife at the back of her belt.

The was a rasp growing in the Arishok’s breath, a wet snarl escaping as he stumbled to one knee. “We... we shall return-”

Hawke’s hand flashed forward, the deftly-thrown knife snapping the Arishok’s head back when it slammed into his eye socket.

“Excellent shot,” Sebastian murmured approvingly, and Fenris smirked as the knot in his chest started to loosen.

Hawke staggered to her feet as the qunari leader fell splayed over the steps. “ _You_ won’t,” she panted, raking hair out of her eyes to stare down the remaining qunari.

They did not look happy with the outcome, but after a protracted moment glaring back, the ashaad nearest Hawke jerked his head toward the door and his few brethren followed the wordless command.

Fenris took what felt like--and may have been--his first full breath since the Arishok issued his challenge watching them go. His arms were stiff with lingering tension when he dropped them.

The movement caught Hawke’s eye and she flashed him a smirk. Despite her bravado, her posture was tense, hands balled into loose fists,weight balanced subtly on her uninjured leg. He moved like a wraith through the crowd of milling nobles, skirting the banister and rushing down the stairs with Merrill and Sebastian in his wake. His gaze remained on the departing qunari, wary even though he knew they would honor the Arishok’s terms.

Jangling armor broke the breathless silence, Meredith and Orsino slowing as they entered the room. Meredith’s sword came up at the sight of qunari, and they reached for weapons in response--

“Don’t.” Hawke’s voice rapped through the air. “It’s over.”

“ _Over?!_ ” Meredith demanded glaring at the qunari though she addressed Hawke.

“Over,” Hawke repeated. “We had an agreement.” She jerked her chin toward the slain Arishok. “They’re leaving. _Without_ further bloodshed.”

_Now_ Meredith wheeled to aim her glare at Hawke, her gaze rife with arguments.

“For the good of the city,” Hawke said firmly, glaring right back as the nobles clustered and spilled down the stairs. Fenris shifted closer to her.

The women held each others’ gaze a long, tense moment as the qunari filed out. Meredith didn’t relent until the last one had gone.

“Very well,” she ground out, and sheathed her sword. She took in the scene; the Arishok’s corpse, Hawke’s injuries, the near-rapturous way the nobles were eyeing the battered woman before her and nodded with grudging respect. “It would appear Kirkwall has a new champion.”

The tension finally, fully drained from the room as the nobles erupted into cheers.

Hawke indulged their relief for a few minutes, her hand resting on Fenris’ arm when he stood next to her, but the set of her jaw made it clear pride and determination were just about all that kept her on her feet. In short order, she gave a final wave of acknowledgement to their accolades and headed for the door with a just noticeable limp.

Fenris followed close on her heels, was there to catch her arm when she swayed just outside the keep. “Hawke-”

“That went well,” she cut him off, inhaling a sharp breath as she leaned against the wall. “Considering.”

“I’ll get Anders,” Merrill volunteered, starting for the steps.

“No,” Hawke ground out, even as she clutched her wounded side. “People will need him with... with all this.” She gestured at the rising smoke and what destruction was visible from the courtyard.

“ _You_ need him,” Fenris growled. _**Damn**_ her stubbornness, anyway.

She shook her head, brown eyes flashing. “No. None of these are deep enough to need magic for healing,” she said through gritted teeth. “Stitches will do.”

“Then allow me to assist.” The words escaped before he could stop them(not that he could swear he would have).

The beat of hesitation, vulnerability flickering through her eyes, cut deeper than any physical blade. Even if he understood. Especially because he understood.

But then she nodded, once, a brittly sharp motion. “Long as you know what you’re doing?” 

He heard the layers, knew what he risked tearing open, for both of them, beyond the confirmation of ability. “I do.”

_I should have stayed._ But it was too late for that now. The most he could do was help.

“...Alright.” Hawke pushed away from the wall, froze, and one hand jerked to her belt. “ _Shit_. My axes-”

“I have them, Hawke,” Sebastian assured her, holding out the weapons.

Hawke took them with a grunt of thanks, her movements stiff. “I’ll be fine.” She nodded toward the burning city again. “See what you can do to help.”

“Aye,” Sebastian nodded, in the same moment Merrill piped up, “We will, Hawke.”

“Good thing my house isn’t far,” Hawke commented as she watched them depart. “You won’t have to help me long.”

“It would be no trouble,” Fenris said softly.

Hawke sighed and flashed him an inscrutable look as she leaned on him.

They made their way to her estate in silence, exhaustion giving an excuse to mask any awkwardness. Hawke refused to accept much help besides the stairs, and Fenris struggled with the urge to just _carry her_ every time she bit her lip or her fingers dug into his arm.

Grizzly greeted them with enthusiasm as soon as they opened the door, which Hawke returned with head scratches and cooed praise for protecting her house and its occupants.

Orana peeked out of the library and gasped. “Oh, mistress, you’re hurt!”

“Orana, I’ve told you-” Hawke cut herself off with a sigh and shake of her head. “Could you- Are Bodahn and Sandal with you in there?”

Orana nodded, eyes still wide as she stared at the blood. “Bodahn’s trying to get his boy to sleep, mist-- Hawke.”

“Damn,” Hawke sucked her teeth a moment, swaying into Fenris’ shoulder. “Could you please bring supplies for patching up to my room?”

Another nod, steadier, as Orana clasped her hands in front of her. “Of course. Will you need my help, mistress?”

One side of Hawke’s mouth curved in the faintest of smiles. “No.” She glanced at him. “I have all the help I need.”

For some reason, the words made his gut clench even more than watching her fight the Arishok had, and Fenris didn’t really want to dwell on _why_. He nudged her toward the steps. “Hawke...”

“No need to coddle,” she muttered.

Irritation spiked, but he bit his tongue as she started up the steps. Her fingers were white-knuckle on the banister a third of the way up. By halfway, he could hear her breath hissing between her teeth.

“Enough of this,” he growled, and scooped her off her feet.

“Fenris!” She glared at him, hand balled into a fist as it pressed against his armor. “Put me down! I’m injured, not an invalid, I am _**capable**_ of walking!”

“If you do not let people _help you_ , injured may turn into being an invalid,” he shot back. 

Hawke glared at him a moment longer, jaw clenched, before relenting. “ _Fine_.”

It didn’t take long to reach her room, and he gingerly set her on the bed.

“I’m not made of glass, Fenris,” she grumbled as she tugged off her gauntlets.

“But you are injured, as you yourself pointed out,” he said, a knot snarling in his chest at how cautiously she moved. He shucked his own gauntlets and set them on the bedside table next to hers. “And I’d not cause you any unnecessary pain.”

_Beyond what I already have._

Hawke was quiet a long moment, jaw working as she swallowed at least one sharp comment. “Then... could you help with my boots? Please?”

“Of course.” Fenris bent and helped slide off her boots, then wordlessly moved to the buckles of her armor.

She stiffened, staring at the wall, but didn’t fight him. A sharp breath escaped her when she raised her injured arm out of his way, and Fenris hurried so she could lower it again.

By the time her leathers were removed and piled in a chair, Grizzly was curled on the rug to keep watch and Orana had brought the requested supplies; warm water, rags, salve, bandages, catgut thread and a needle. 

Fenris glanced at the supplies, then Hawke’s injuries. “Which one first?”

“Shoulder,” she said without hesitation. “Hurts like the bloody Void.” With only some difficulty she worked off her shirt, tugging the fabric away from injuries with ginger fingers. Her head snapped up to meet his gaze when he started to protest. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He shut his mouth with a click under the challenge of her tired, whiskey-brown eyes. “As you wish,” he finally murmured, and set about cleaning away the blood. Up close, this one _was_ surprisingly nasty and it did seem wise to tend it first.

Silence filled the room as he worked, broken only by the crackling fire and occasional huff from Grizzly as he shifted position. Exhaustion, uncertainty, and a myriad of other things made the prospect off conversation a daunting one, and neither was eager to open that jar of worms right now.

So Fenris focused on the stitches, keeping them secure and even, pretending he didn’t see her grip tightening on the edge of the bed with each stitch. Hawke didn’t emit as much as a whimper as he worked. Her gaze never left the wall until he’d tugged the last stitch into place and reached for the salve and bandages.

“You _do_ know what you’re doing,” she commented, upon peeking at his handiwork.

His lips twitched toward a smile as he gently spread a layer of salve over the stitched wound. “I would not have offered otherwise.” He nudged her arm up with the back of his hand, heard her breath catch in the same moment his heart skipped a beat, pushed through to begin winding bandages around her shoulder.

Hawke bit her lip as she watched him. “When did you learn?”

“After I... ran.” The Fog Warriors had imparted a few things, and he’d gotten practice in a variety of places. “It is something you pick up quickly when you are... unsure who to trust.”

“I imagine so,” she said softly. “Leg next. This one’s not as deep.” Her fingers flexed against the rag she held to her midriff. “You can just cut or tear the trousers, they’re beyond repair anyway.”

From the amount of blood that had soaked the fabric around this wound, he had to agree. “Very well.”

She leaned back against the pillows, swinging her leg up on the bed as he cut away the pant material. After a moment’s internal debate, Fenris surrendered to the inevitable and knelt next to the bed for the best angle stitching this one. Again they were silent while he worked, though Hawke did suck in a few harsh breaths as he progress up toward her hip.

He didn’t dare wonder if it was pain or something else to blame.

Finally all that remained was the gash on her stomach. It was, as she’d claimed, not as deep as the other two, and had largely ceased bleeding. It was still the most difficult to tend, for reasons quite aside from skill.

They both caught a sharp breath when his fingers brushed her side. Fenris swallowed hard, saw her do the same.

_It’s fine. I am simply helping a friend._ Never had his thoughts seemed such blatant lies. He hesitated, and Hawke shifted.

“I can have Orana-” she began, but he shook his head.

“No.” He raised his head to meet her gaze, saw the walls barely holding... _everything_ at bay in her eyes, and returned to the freckled skin around this last wound. “I said I would help, and I shall.”

“If you’re sure.” Hawke voice was rough and her posture still tense.

“I am.” He took needle and thread in hand, loosely rested his other hand on her hip to steady them both.

These stitches were less even, though no less secure, and his hands trembled as he carefully wound the bandages. Tight enough to protect, loose enough they wouldn’t cause further harm.

“Thank you,” Hawke whispered as he stood. “I appreciate you... your help.”

He stood there a moment, many things he wanted to say warring for release, but none succeeded. “...You are most welcome,” he said instead, unable to resist tucking her hair behind her ear. A bruise was blossoming on her cheek. Hawke’s eyes fluttered closed and he withdrew his hand swiftly. “Is there anything else you need?”

She flashed a smile that was plainly forced, even with its brevity. “Just fresh clothes and sleep. Orana can help for those, though.” Her jaw tightened and she stared into the fire. “You don’t have to stay.”

_I want to._ The words made it to the tip of his tongue before they stuck, caught on pride or remorse or something else. He’d given up that right. It wasn’t his place, by his own choice. A choice he was no longer certain had been the right one. But it was the one he’d made, the one he’d _needed_ to make, and he would accept what that meant. For both their sakes.

So he nodded, heart squeezing when her shoulders slumped just perceptibly. (Or did he imagine that?) “Sleep well, then, Hawke. I...” This much he could say. “I am glad you are alright. Relatively speaking.”

She laughed softly at his deadpan addendum and finally met his eyes. “As am I.”

With too much and no more to say, Fenris gave another nod and collected his gauntlets, pulling them back on as he headed out into the street. At least the chaos there he could do something to fix.


End file.
